Through the Door

Brené Brown once wrote that the most important thing to do, when getting home at the end of the day, was to smile before opening the door.

Whatever was going on internally, and regardless of the events of the day, the evening (and weekend) could have their tone set by that one conscious choice. Choosing to smile to loved ones at home signifies a message of happiness, of connection, of intentionality.

It’s a great message to carry a positive attitude into our home lives, so that we can be fully present to our families – be they human or canine (or other!)

It can also be a reminder to us as we encounter the world – so often we carry with us hurts from the past, grudges from a negative meeting, grumpiness from a bad nights’ sleep. If we meet others bearing that negativity, it will overshadow our encounter. But if we do our best to greet folks with at least neutrality (if not happiness), we c an shape the conversation to be one of grace.

This is not to suggest that we leap into toxic positivity, nor to delude ourselves from the realities of our lives, nor to avoid difficult conversations. In fact, I think it can help us to find the holiness within those challenges, the sacred moments of accepting the people in our midst for who they are, and the world around us for what it is.

Paul gives us this example, in every letter he wrote – he starts by extending grace, offering prayers and dwelling into the shared space of humanity and holiness: invoking God’s presence as he is greeting communities that may need to hear some challenging news.

Imagine if we did the same when we engage the world: took a breath to cleanse away past annoyances, carefully put away non-related grievances, asked God to be present in conversations, and be ready to experience goodness as we walk through the next door – into our meetings, our evenings, our callings.

Leaps of Faith

Over breakfast with a friend this week, she reminded me of the saying reculer pour mieux sauter – basically, to draw back a little in order to make a better jump or leap.

This can mean a strategic withdrawal – intentionally pulling back, in order to regroup and focus energy elsewhere. While ‘strategic withdrawal’ is often a phrase used in military planning or corporate considerations, we as people of faith can choose to apply this to our spiritual journeys.

We do this by retreat: not in the sense of “run away, run away!” but rather in the notion of intentional holy pause.

A retreat can be a moment, a day, a week, or longer. It is not a vacation, it is not simply turning off the electronics (though that can be helpful); a spiritual retreat engages a lot of interior work to discern the path forward.

It is a time when we choose to see what is giving us energy in our work and play; and what is draining us. It encourages us to reconnect with our true selves – beyond the titles, the job descriptions, the to-do lists, the everything of the world. We are not denying those things, we are merely choosing to temporarily put them down, and to enter into the wholeness of the Holy, who loved us into being before any of those things were a part of our lives.

When we are there, we tap into the opportunity of considering not only what we want to do, but how we will do it – incorporating ideas for faithful, supported, forward motion.

To draw back temporarily grants us the grace to embrace the beautiful potential in the world, that God is constantly lavishing upon us. From this celebration of gift received, we re-enter the world: empowered, encouraged, energised.

For the mieux sauter that we seek is not about measurements or metrics, but about the spiritual growth. How can we jump into the fullness of being in this world, at this time, with the people God has put before us. What lessons of the past can we re-remember to enrich the present? What ideas of today can enhance our tomorrows?

May God guide us all as we draw back from all that inhibits love, so that we might make our leaps of faith with enthusiasm into our shared ministry.

Pardon?

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In a casual conversation this week, I found myself falling over my words. My brain knew what it wanted to convey, and the words that came out simply did not align. It took our conversation to a very silly space, as I told the dog not to lick her food (meaning foot) and I told my friend I just needed to Gran a bite (grab a bite).

“I feel like my mouth has a built-in autocorrect!” I blurted, and we all laughed.

In general, we have become familiar with our technology changing some words in our texts. We overlook typos that pop up in our media. We allow grace when our friends mis-speak.

While that grace can be withheld in some arenas (where topics are already contentious – think courtrooms or parliamentary debate), we have the opportunity to get clarification in other cases. Asking someone to repeat their comment, or requesting that they say more about that, opens the door to better understanding.

It’s a lens we could also apply to our understanding of scripture and theology. We can recognise that things have been written over millennia: contexts have changed, scribes may have made a genuine error (we know of thousands of biblical typos over the years), some human editing may have taken place, translations aren’t always accurate, colloquialisms and idioms can affect the message, puns and wordplay changes meaning over time. Even the evolution of language can add to the complexity of comprehension. The Gospels themselves offer varying nuances in the accounts of the life and teachings of Jesus.

When we read something that gives us pause, it can be healthy to lean into that pause. If we would ask a person to expand on a statement, we should be comfortable asking the same of scripture.

We may not get a complete answer; we may not get an answer we like. But the process will be worth it, and invite us into deeper relationship with the teachings of our faith.

We don’t have devices to repel misquotes like mosquitos – so we rely on our reason and intellect to help us through the journey.

The Year of New

Following a year of change (mostly external and much unpleasant), I chose that 2023 would be a year of NEW! New things and experiences that I would have control over, that would be intentionally chosen, that would stretch me beyond my comfort zone.

They did! Some were big, some small; some I will (and have!) repeated, others won’t happen again. All, however, gave me the chance to breach existing patterns, and to be open to the possibility of new joy. In most, they involved sharing time with people I care about (and who care about me); there was laughter, there was prayer, there was adventure.

Doing new things allows us to explore avenues that we just haven’t traversed before: our curiosities are awakened, our vulnerability exposed, our courage evident. It’s fun, in middle-age, to consider new opportunities to find joy – often making those explorations with the eagerness of a child.
It was a fun year! A lot happened. Here’s some highlights:

January: New Year’s Day Polar Dip in the Atlantic Ocean. Bloody cold, but we laughed our way to warmth!! I’m glad I did it, but I’m not likely to do it again.
February: I tried a new craft – origami. I’m not good at it! But the experience gave me pause to reflect on those who create thousands of cranes – what a practice of patience and focus!
March: a season of renewal. I forced open a door that I feared 2022 had shut; and received the miracle of re-invigoration.
April: A new game! At our weekly games night, we played a DnD Pathfinder Quest. A new game, new character, much laughter!
May: I submitted a piece of poetry to a writing contest. It was a piece I’d begun in 2011, and I edited and submitted it. All of my other writings are non-fiction, so this was well outside the box for me. (I wasn’t chosen, but that wasn’t the point!)
June: New engagement with a piece of scripture, thanks to a dear friend, which inspired dramatic positive action. A passage I’ve overlooked before is now inscribed on art in my room, to remember daily.
July: Kayaking on a lake. Really! I’ve canoed lots, but kayaking is very different. (It doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was a formidable evening, and lots of prayerful reflection came of it.)
August: New culinary experience - Bubble Tea! A new adventure with a friend – oh my goodness the sugar. Yowsers.
September: Wow, so much new… moving across the country to a new house, new church, new adventures. SO. MUCH. JOY.
October: New book genre. I realised my reading pattern had become quite predictable, so I broached into another one (graphic novels). Not my cup of tea – but again, I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t tried.
November: Ongoing little things as I explore my new neighbourhood… new coffee shops, new dog parks, new local merchants – enjoying the treasures that are found, and feeling comfortable with saying ‘no’ to places that just don’t work for me.
December: Messiah! While I’m an avid music lover and supporter of the arts, the week before Christmas is usually a very busy time – this year I made time to go the Symphony’s presentation of Handel’s Messiah – a time of pause and peace (and edification) for myself before the fun of the season.

I’m looking forward to the fun and adventure of 2024!!